Ballet West: The Nutcracker

The Nutcracker is as much of a holiday tradition as streaming White Christmas on Netflix. We depend on it as a marker of the season, a reason to call up favorite friends and family for a jolly holiday date. We revel in the familiarity of the story, the staging, the characters. We know what is coming next and wait with bated breath for our favorite solos. We compare this year’s show to last year’s show, or to the time when we were in it. We pick out something special to wear to the Capitol Theatre.

This is the 75th-anniversary year of Willam Christensen’s The Nutcracker. As with anything where familiarity has come to the forefront (hello, long-term relationships!), there is the danger of taking it for granted. In knowing it by heart, we don’t have to listen to the story carefully, or mine for the nuance beneath the surface. In short, we don’t really look at what’s in front of us.

It lies, then, in the performers to shock us awake. This past Saturday, at Ballet West’s The Nutcracker, I found myself longing for that soon into the first act.

Christensen’s Nutcracker, the longest-running version of the production worldwide, is heavily influenced by vaudeville, and incorporates a certain amount of shtick and comedy.  As a program note by Ballet West artistic director Adam Sklute described, this was one of the stylistic choices Christensen employed in making a “uniquely American” Nutcracker. But at times, a focus on entertaining bleeds into parody of characters, where there may otherwise be room to root them in reality.

I wondered, even while staying true to Christensen, if there was still room for a deeper sense of storytelling? A more committed research of character? An approach to a beloved performance focused not on delivering familiar high points, but on approaching the original source material with true curiosity?

And then I got my answer.

When Emily Neale took the stage for the Arabian dance, she shook me awake. Through every languid extension and elastic suspension, she exuded seductive, exotic energy. Her gaze confident and a bit playful, she fully embodied, rather than just portrayed, the role. Together with partner Dominic Ballard, she renewed the infamous duet. I felt like I’d never seen it before. It felt gutsy and alive.

I became immediately aware that this difference was a crucial factor in my experience, as I noticed it in other places. The moments in which dancers risked taking a role dead-seriously, theatrically diving in head first, popped out like bolded font. As the Nutcracker Prince, Kyle Davis brought such grounded and calm energy that, in the brief moment he took to the center, the audience went quiet. Hadriel Diniz, Amber Miller, and Gabrielle Salvatto let the rhythm of the Spanish dance flavor their every step, bringing with each leap and turn the full emotion of a foreign land. In committing like this, they honored their characters.

I know, I’m not mentioning the obvious technical prowess inherent in pulling off a flawless Nutcracker, but when we are in a long-term relationship, it just takes more to get us flushed. This show has stood the test of time as communities across the country refuse to live without it. The gorgeous trappings of sparkly colorful costumes, whimsical sets, and promising young talent cannot help but bring Christmas cheer. But what’s underneath is also for the taking.

There is a chance to reconnect with The Nutcracker on a deeper, more meaningful level. It lies in the performers giving the ballet’s characters their due emotional weight. It’s in the subtle moments of pantomime at the party, in the delicacy of the Snow Queen, in Drosselmeyer believing he can conjure magic. It cannot be layered on top of choreography but instead has to inform it from its roots. This ballet is dance theater, after all - the storytelling is as paramount as the pirouettes. 

Ballet West’s The Nutcracker continues through Thursday, December 26, at the Janet Quinney Lawson Capitol Theatre. 

Emeri Fetzer is a dancer and communications specialist. She works at the University of Utah, performs with Phantom Limb Company, and is looking forward to developing new choreography in the coming year. 

Ballet West: Jewels

While George Balanchine’s Jewels may be best known as the first full-length abstract ballet, I find its magnificence resides in other features: its brilliant display of ballet’s history and the ways dancers and music convey different moods or atmospheres. Ultimately, I find the three sections of Jewels speak to the values of diversity and inclusivity, and by extension to the importance of honoring different artists and cultures.

This was especially apparent Saturday night when there was a special ceremony for Bruce Caldwell, honoring his 50 years of work with Ballet West as a dancer and currently as ballet master and company archivist. As the audience applauded at the end of the performance, Caldwell was on stage to receive a rose from many partners he worked with during his dancing career, including Jane Wood, Maggie Tesch, and Sharee Lane. It was a poignant acknowledgement of the commitment and love dancers bring to their profession.

It was also a fitting ending to a ballet that has a celebratory vibe: the richness of the costumes in Jewels, plus the size of the cast (34 dancers are on stage for the polonaise that closes the performance), make the evening a dazzling affair. On Saturday night I found the women in particular, both in leading roles as well as in the corps, were exceptional.

Emeralds, the first section, set to music by Gabriel Fauré, was a dreamlike series of encounters, and Katlyn Addison and Emily Adams were exquisite. They conveyed the sense of mystery and detachment that makes me think of Romantic ballet when I watch Emeralds. The longer tutus (designed by Barbara Karinska) recall the costumes of La Sylphide or Giselle, and the relationships between the men and women tend to be unresolved. There were lush, reaching gestures that looked like the dancers were being swept and blown through the phrases. A pas de deux ended with the dancers walking backwards into the wings, their chests lifted to the sky in a moment of reverie or surrender. The ballet ended with three men kneeling and raising one arm towards the wings, a gesture that evoked a sense of longing since the women had just exited. In last night’s performance it seemed to mark a moment of gratitude for the elegance of these women. The 10 women in the corps were incandescent: their bourrées suggested the shimmering of a gem. This was especially impressive Saturday night because the cast included dancers of Ballet West II––Jordan DePina, Savannah Lyle, Alexandra Terry, and Victoria Vassos­­––who blended seamlessly with the company members.

Artists of Ballet West in George Balanchine’s Rubies. Photo by Beau Pearson.

Rubies presented the slinky atmosphere of a jazz club (Igor Stravinsky’s score for this section was first performed in 1929). The section opened with the dancers standing in 4th position, arms high in V-like shapes, with the women en pointe. They jutted their hips with sassy thrusts and instantly the reverie of Emeralds dissipated: now we were in the land of “cool.” On Saturday night the four men, Kyle Davis, David Huffmire, Ryo Munakata, and Joshua Shutkind, were riveting: exquisite in their execution of fast phrases and precise steps. When they partnered Addison, who appeared regal and queen-like in Rubies, they attentively placed her wrists and ankles in développé and arabesque positions. They seemed to be displaying her fantastic lines like a ruby would be displayed on a pedestal; and Addison’s confidence recalled other powerful women in Balanchine’s repertory, like the Siren in Prodigal Son. Her headpiece made me think of the crown worn by Wonder Woman, an apt comparison given that Addison stepped into this leading role in Rubies for Emily Neale just after performing in Emeralds. Other corps dancers who shone in this section included Jenna Rae Herrera and Chelsea Keefer, both soloists with the company, who performed with an infectious joie de vivre.

The moment the curtain opened for Diamonds, there was applause from the audience. This section recreated the stately opulence of Tsarist Russia. The score by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky and the white tutus worn by the corps of 12 women conveyed the refined sophistication of a royal ball. Typical of Balanchine’s ballets, the corps took a central role and again the dancers included members from Ballet West II––Terry and Vassos plus Cy Doherty, Robert Fowler, Noel Jensen, Joseph Lynch, and Jake Preece––who contributed to the magnificent vision of courtly elegance.

In the leading roles, Beckanne Sisk and Chase O’Connell were gorgeous, and special moments included the way he knelt to her during the beginning of their pas de deux, as if to ask, “Can I have the honor of dancing with you?” Their solos, especially his execution of à la seconde turns, were phenomenal, and again the audience applauded. Sisk’s choreography included gestures that recalled Swan Lake, with arms like wings, yet without any reference to a specific character or narrative. Instead these moments, that evoked the 19th century, reminded me how Balanchine was updating ballet’s vocabulary, making it relevant to the 20th century. On Saturday night there were exceptional performances by female soloists––Gabrielle Salvatto, Katie Critchlow, Chelsea Keefer, and Amber Miller––who danced with the speed, precision, and joy that are Balanchine’s trademarks. They continually captured my attention, an impressive feat when the cast numbered 34 dancers.

Artists of Ballet West in George Balanchine’s Diamonds. Photo by Beau Pearson.

A week before this performance I watched a rehearsal of this section led by Sandra Jennings, who performed, and now stages, Balanchine’s repertory. Her cues to the dancers to “really step out” while maintaining exact positions, revealed the ways that Balanchine extended the classical vocabulary. Jennings’s attention to detail was impressive: noticing how a slight shift in a dancer’s shoulder in arabesque distorted the feeling of uniformity among the soloists. I imagine Jennings would have appreciated how thoroughly the cast embraced her directions and presented a gorgeous performance of Balanchine’s aesthetic.

A through-line of the evening was the exceptional music, conducted by Jared Oaks, Ballet West’s music director. Each section conveyed a different characteristic, from dream-like to jazzy to elegant, that was generated by the musicians as well as the dancers. Jewels is known for its close connections between the scores and the steps, and any time musicians and dancers are working well together, there’s a distinct synchronicity: we are watching how artists in the orchestra and artists on stage are generating this work of art collaboratively. When I attended the rehearsal led by Jennings, I noticed that Oaks was present as well: his deep knowledge of the dancers’ needs, combined with his attentive conducting, made watching Ballet West perform Balanchine’s ballet an extraordinary experience.

The costumes, courtesy of Cincinnati Ballet and Pacific Northwest Ballet, added to the evening’s glamour, and it was exciting to see how each jewel’s costume was created by combining multiple shades of its color: green for emerald, red for ruby, and white for diamond. This diversity added to the ballet’s theme of embracing multiple nations and styles.

When Balanchine made this ballet in 1967, he was fortunate to be working with a special cast of artists: Violette Verdy and Conrad Ludlow, Mimi Paul and Francisco Moncion; Patricia McBride, Edward Villella, and Patricia Neary; Suzanne Farrell and Jacques d’Amboise. What was exciting about Ballet West’s production last night was noticing how many talented artists in Ballet West II could become new members of the company, and how many artists in the company, like Kyle Davis, Jenna Rae Herrera, Chelsea Keefer, and Gabrielle Salvatto, are thriving and could soon be moving into more featured roles. Just like Jewels is a celebration of different countries, as well as artists from different countries, Ballet West is a company that has a rich diversity of dancers in terms of backgrounds, body types, and countries of origin. At this particular moment in the States, I find this celebration of difference an important message about the richness of cultural diversity, and the contributions that people from many nations make to our definitions of what it means to be American.

 Kate Mattingly is an assistant professor of dance at the University of Utah. She has a doctoral degree in performance studies from UC Berkeley, and has had writing published in The New York Times, The Village Voice, Dance Research Journal, Dance magazine, and Pointe magazine, among others.

Ballet West: The Shakespeare Suite

David Bintley’s The Shakespeare Suite, the title piece of Ballet West’s spring season, opens with Kyle Davis as Hamlet and a chorus of four couples slinking across a maroon carpet, the women dressed like Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face and the men (save Davis) in kilts and mesh shirts. Davis and the chorus’s repetitive sharp gestures usher the audience into the comical world created by the marriage of Duke Ellington’s music, Shakespeare’s characters, and Bintley’s tongue-in-cheek choreography. The Shakespeare Suite humorously portrays the most famous Shakespearean characters from both tragedy and comedy in a series of vignettes set to Ellington’s big band sounds.

Christopher Sellars and Katherine Lawrence charmed in the first duet as a Converse-clad, pop punk Kate and Petruchio from The Taming of the Shrew. Lawrence’s eye rolls and huffing marches, all done in a fluffy wedding dress, argued with Sellars’ spiky-haired, jaunty prankster. Typically cast in sparkling but demure roles, it was exciting to see Lawrence’s amusing over-exaggeration.

The only solo of the work was Davis’s portrayal Hamlet, which both opened and closed The Shakespeare Suite. Beginning with a pinpoint focus off stage, Davis, whom I have not had the pleasure of seeing in soloist roles before, showed a confident coolness, even while going mad. His technique skillfully folded into the character, making him an apt guide for Bintley’s surreal world populated by beatnik Shakespeareans.

It was a treat to see Ballet West’s dancers portray characters so far beyond the scope of their typical repertoire. I hardly recognized Adrian Fry stalking across the stage as Othello, and Allison DeBona’s devious smiles made her a delightfully manipulative Lady Macbeth. The ballet showcased a rarely revealed, comedic side of Ballet West. With all its character and wit, The Shakespeare Suite doesn’t try to be more complex than it is; it’s a romp, a gleeful amusement both for the dancers and the audience.

Soloist Jenna Rae Herrera and Demi-Soloist Joshua Whitehead, as Titania and Bottom, in David Bintley’s The Shakespeare Suite. Photo by Beau Pearson.

The first work of the evening, Jiří Kylián’s Return to a Strange Land, was the most benign. Dedicated to John Cranko, Return to a Strange Land presents two pas de trois and two pas de deux, each featuring Kylián’s often imitated style of smoothly intertwined partnering. Costumed in academically simple blue or gold leotards and soft-hued tights, the dancers begin on an autumn-colored stage, piles of leaves in the background, as they wind and unwind their arms, tangling their bodies until interwoven connections emerge. A dancer is lifted in an arch and spun into a deep plié while her partners draw connected circles around her. When the dancers do separate, they rush away from each other, flying around the stage like the leaves piled upstage.  Eventually they come together again, knotting themselves into moments of delicate, embracing balance as their kaleidoscopic shapes, perfectly symmetrical yet complex, emerge and disappear. The partnering is intricate but was deftly handled, especially by Chase O’Connell. Paired with Emily Adams, whose musicality is entrancing, the blue pas de deux was clear and heartfelt without being overly earnest.

Principal Emily Adams and Chase O’Connell in Jiří Kylián’s Return to a Strange Land. Photo by Beau Pearson.

Artists of Ballet West in Jiří Kylián's Return to a Strange Land. Photo by Beau Pearson.j

Principal Emily Adams and Chase O’Connell in Jiří Kylián’s Return to a Strange Land. Photo by Beau Pearson.

I will confess, I was most excited about Ballet West’s spring season because of Summerspace, Merce Cunningham’s masterwork that premiered at the American Dance Festival in 1958. The work was created with Cunningham’s unique collaborative process in which composer, choreographer, and designer each created independently, only coming together at the premiere of the work, a process still imitated as the work is reset on new dancers. Summerspace features colorfully dotted unitards and a backdrop designed by Robert Rauschenberg, as well as a spacious score composed by Morton Feldman. This type of collaborative process is obviously risky, but in this case yields a work where each element is fully realized, able to simultaneously stand on its own and interact with the other elements. Granted, it’s a great help for Summerspace to have had such accomplished collaborators. To quote Feldman, “Say you’re getting married and I tell you the dress won’t be made until the morning of the wedding. But I also tell you it’s by Dior.”  

Though it was the oldest work of the concert, Summerspace was the most unconventional, challenging both physically and conceptually for a typical ballet audience. Its clarity and simplicity made it an easy work to watch, however. Dancers charge through the space with impossible sequences of spins and springs. Spacious lines that lean toward balletic, speedy turning sequences, and simple patterns of skips, triplets, and leaps are juxtaposed against abrupt stillness. The music drifts in and out, filled with silence, almost fluttering past your ears. Ballet West’s cast was spritely in their charming interpretation, and their youthful verve was dazzling. Katlyn Addison’s open presence anchored the work. She kept the lift and speed of Summerspace from flying away, grounding the performance with her voluminous dancing.

Summerspace was clearly a challenge for Ballet West’s dancers: the movement passages are physical non-sequiturs, technically brutal in their composition. But seeing such accomplished dancers struggle is its own reward. In one moment, Katie Critchlow balanced on the subtlest of relevés, shaking as she shifted her weight to one leg. There was a sense of concentration that I have never seen at a Ballet West performance, an almost palpable air of risk. That the dancers were able to maintain humor and playfulness made their attempts and successes even more intriguing to watch. More than once the audience giggled and burst into spontaneous applause, reactions that are as rare as they were delightful and well-deserved.

Mary Lyn Graves, a native of Tulsa, OK, studied dance at the University of Oklahoma. She currently dances with Ririe-Woodbury Dance Company.